


Domestic

by Katsuko



Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2011 [12]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, NaNoWriMo, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsuko/pseuds/Katsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif was many things. Domestic wasn't one of them. Written for both NaNoWriMo and <span><a href="http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/"><b>hc_bingo</b></a></span>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 2, the prompt being "burns." Also part of my aborted NaNo attempt.
> 
> And yep, this is in the same series as [Martröðum](http://archiveofourown.org/works/292516) et al.

Sif was many things. She was one of the finest warriors Asgard had ever produced. Her skills as a shield maiden had no equal. There had been many a song sung about her prowess in battle in Odin's very own halls.

Yes, Sif was many things.

Unfortunately, the one thing she wasn't, by _any_ definition of the word, was domestic.

Sif enjoyed visiting Thor's compatriots on Midgard, even if the Iron Man sometimes made her want to alternately rip out her hair at the roots or stab the annoying man with one of the daggers Loki had gifted to her centuries ago. They were a lively lot, and they'd been so very accepting of her Loki even after the problems he'd caused them for a time. Yet sometimes, she felt as if a few of the men composing the core Avengers team were a bit behind the times.

Even in Asgard, it was a well-known and fully accepted fact that the Lady Sif would never set foot in a kitchen, since for all her envious skills she was a poor cook at best. But somehow, every time she visited and her fellow Asgardians were absent from a room, Anthony Stark or Clint Barton seemed to expect her to go and (what was the phrase?) "fix us up a little snack, sweetheart, anything's good."

Honestly. Even Captain America, who was unfailingly polite, had a difficult time seeing her as anything other than simply a woman. Or a "dame," as Rogers had phrased it only one time before backtracking and apologizing profusely.

Sif did not let their small-mindedness bother her, especially when Lady Pepper or Lady Natasha were around to either smack their respective men or give them a thorough tongue lashing. She was starting to think, however, that Barton did it on purpose just so that Lady Natasha would yell at him; the man was an odd one, even so far as Midgardians were concerned.

Even so, she'd somehow found her way into the kitchen (not because she'd been asked to, but because she was nothing if not curious as to how things worked on worlds other than her own) and was currently messing about with the knobs and dials on the stove. It was much different than any stove she'd seen before, therefore making it an object of extreme interest. Sif knew that Thor could use some of the things (appliances) within the room, and that Loki apparently made a habit of kicking everyone out in order to make use of the facilities, but she had no earthly clue how _any_ of these things worked.

Her mother had long lamented that her daughter would not make for a good wife in the realm of household work, and Sif reluctantly accepted that she'd sacrificed basic domestic skills in exchange for a sword and shield. Even so, the kitchen remained a mysterious and fascinating realm from which cooked food came, and she wanted to try and solve the mystery.

"What are you doing?"

Having thought she'd be alone for a while yet, Sif jumped at the sudden voice behind her and whirled around, setting one hand on the range behind her. However, she'd neglected to turn the dials back to their original positions. A yelp of pain escaped her as the red-hot coil burned her skin and she jerked her hand away, losing her balance for a moment as she stumbled into the table.

It only took Loki a few seconds to cut off the burners and turn his full attention to Sif.

"Here, let me have a look," the second prince of Asgard (and apparently the first prince of Jotunheim, if Thor's story was to be believed. Of course, Loki didn't discount it, but Loki was _Loki_ and that could mean anything) said softly, carefully taking the shield maiden's hand in his own. He frowned at the tidy, circular burns on her fair skin, running a fingertip over the raised skin.

Sif shivered slightly, still not quite used to how Loki's skin seemed to feel cool against her own but not jerking her hand away. She shifted a bit closer, watching as her prince continued to trace the burns silently. It took several minutes, but soon enough Loki's magic had soothed the pain and erased the furious red welts, leaving Sif's hand only with the calluses from her sword that had been there for several centuries now.

The god of mischief pressed a kiss to the palm of his lady's hand before looking up with a smile. "There, that's better."

"Thank you," Sif replied with a grin of her own, pulling Loki close to reward him with a chaste kiss.

"What exactly _were_ you doing, anyway?"

"Ah... trying to solve a mystery. A proper wife should be able to feed her husband without injuring herself in the process."

Loki smirked and rolled his eyes heavenward. "My dear lady wife, perhaps it would be best if you fight battles for my honor and allow me to deal with the tedious duties of the home," he said, the tone light and teasing but truthful.

Sif smiled brightly and gave her husband another, less-than-chaste kiss. "That is one of the best ideas you've ever had, my husband."

From the doorway, Tony shook his head and took another long drink of bourbon. He was never going to understand how the hell those two made it work even if he lived to be a thousand.


End file.
